


Force

by My_Beating_Hart



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dark, I'm Sorry, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, for the love of god please heed them, generic villain is generic, the tags judge me for my sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron and Zevran get captured by bandits. It does not go well for them.<br/>(Please bear the rating and tags in mind as you read this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly an experiment in brutality and is perhaps the darkest fic I've written so far. Be warned.

Theron woke to a pounding headache and his cheek pressed into the dirt. The skin around his left eyelid felt stiff, and he quickly realised it was due to the fresh wound that split his eyebrow in two, and the resulting blood that had flowed and dried. Groggily, he opened his eyes and glanced around, not daring to move his head. He was in a dusty room that was in serious disrepair. Sunlight filtered through holes in the wooden roof and walls. The smell of hay and animal musk was thick but stale, and if he didn’t know better, he was in a barn. Why was he in a barn?

The ranger took a breath, remembering the bandit attack. It had been an ambush. Now it was just the two of them looking out for each other, they hadn't quite adjusted to how vulnerable they were without anyone else to help them or distract opponents. Six against two. Really, it was no wonder they had lost. Thank the Creators they weren’t dead. Yet, at least.

Theron turned his head slowly, trying to get a better look at the room. His hands and feet were tied, he realised, the knots tight. His hands were behind his back, arms and shoulders aching at being forced into an uncomfortable position for however long he’d been unconscious for. He probably wouldn’t be able to roll onto his back without crushing his fingers uncomfortably, either.

He also realised that he was unarmed. That was unsurprising. Theron sighed wearily, allowing his eyes to fall closed again. Where was he, and how would he be able to escape? And more importantly, where was Zevran?

Something brushing against the back of his thigh made him start and automatically draw his legs up closer to his body.

“Theron, easy, _amor_.”

The Dalish elf relaxed, relief flooding through him as he wriggled in the dust until he could see Zevran behind him, equally tied up. So, he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d previously thought.

“Are you hurt?” The ranger asked, taking in the various cuts and bloodstains that decorated the Antivan. No doubt he had gone down fighting.

“Yes, but that is not of importance.” Zevran shrugged as best as he was able to, lifting his head up to peer around the otherwise empty room. “We need to get out of here. I do not want to wait and see what those bandits might have in store for us.”

There was a fleeting darkness to Zevran’s eyes that sent a faint chill of worry through the watching Dalish elf. Just how many times had Zevran awoken to situations like this one? How many times had he been unable to escape? No, there was no point in thinking about that now, or what the bandits might do.

“Do you have a dagger or two handy?” Theron asked hopefully, and Zevran smirked.

“For once, yes.” The blond replied cheerfully.

“Can you get it yourself?”

The Antivan wriggled his bound legs, grunting in effort or pain as he strained at the ropes that held him. Theron tested his own, feeling the rough rope bite into his wrists and ankles. They were so _tight_. _Too_ tight… No. If he needed, he could save panicking over being tied up for later, when they were far, _far_ away from here. All the same, his heart began to hammer in his chest.

“No.” Zevran sighed, sounding annoyed. “But you might be able to reach it.” He added.

“Where is it?” Theron asked, and the blond smirked weakly.

“The inside of my thigh.” He reported, parting his legs as much as the ties would let him so Theron could see the faint outline of a sheathed dagger strapped high up on his thigh, hidden well underneath the leather skirt of his armour and close to his smallclothes. “Not all enemies are smart enough or willing to check there. Sometimes that is a reasonable place to hide a dagger. Other times, less so.”

“I’m very tempted to make a joke about grabbing the wrong dagger right now.” Theron commented as he began to wriggle over. Despite the situation, Zevran chuckled.

“Later, _amor_ , once we are free and have slit every other whoreson’s throat to leave them bleeding out into the dust.” The assassin promised.

Theron nodded, and he couldn’t describe just how relieved he was that Zevran was here with him, alive and conscious, level-headed enough to be simultaneously amused and swear vengeance as they began to free themselves.

When they were facing each other, bodies awkwardly brushing, Theron braced himself for pain as he rolled onto his other side so his bound hands were facing Zevran. The blond moved behind him, muttering encouragement and direction as Theron reached blindly.

“A little higher… To your left. Your _left_.” Zevran instructed him, before stopping himself with a suppressed laugh as Theron’s fingers brushed feather-light over the delicate inside of his thigh.

“I thought only your sides were ticklish?” Theron frowned, edging backwards slightly so he could reach further.

“Ah, perhaps I deceived you so that torture could be kept to a minimum?” The blond admitted sheepishly. The ranger huffed, but kept moving his hands until his thumb connected with something that felt a lot like leather.

“I think I found it.” Theron muttered, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he followed the leather shape further downwards until his fingers met the worn leather grip of a dagger’s hilt.

“Well done, _amor_.” Zevran whispered behind him, and the ranger didn’t need to look back over his shoulder to know he was being smiled at. He managed to get a firm hold on the hilt between his finger and thumb, and began to wriggle away as Zevran moved backwards, the dagger slowly sliding free of its sheath.

“The blade isn’t poisoned, is it?” Theron asked as the realisation occurred. If he managed to accidentally cut and poison his lover _now_ , of all possible times...

“No, no. I never apply poison to that dagger, not when it’s so close to such _delicate_ areas of my anatomy.” The Antivan replied with a wry grin. Theron relaxed, and readjusted his grip on the dagger as he removed his hands from up Zevran’s skirt. It was difficult to see over his shoulder, even lying on his side, but he managed to reposition the blade so it pointed sideways, the sharp edge towards Zevran. The blond turned around and it was his turn to shuffle backwards.

“Keep a tight hold.” He added, and Theron’s fingers nearly hurt with the effort of gripping the dagger in the very uncomfortable position as Zevran began to cut his ties, the blade doing a surprisingly good job of sawing through the rope.

The sound of a door creaking in protest as it was flung open made Theron drop the dagger in alarm. Quickly, he moved away from Zevran as the blond moved to hide the dagger under his legs just before someone who could only have been one of the bandits stepped into the room.

The man looked both elves over before he half-turned back to the still open door and whoever was outside.

“Sure we didn’t pick up two women?” He called through, grinning at his own joke. Theron glowered but Zevran rolled his eyes and tested his now weakened bonds. The rope creaked, and it seemed to give minutely when he strained against it. He needed more time to work at it before it could break and his hands would be free.

“What are you going to do with us?” Theron asked, drawing the bandit’s attention.

“Have a little fun with you two, and then send you on your way.” The human shrugged casually as if they were talking about the pleasant weather. A chill ran through the Dalish elf as the man grinned at them, and Zevran let out a resigned sigh behind him.

“I’m sure they didn’t always get to the heart of the matter so quickly.” He mused.

“What would a pretty little elf like you know about that, eh?” The human asked, stepping close enough that Theron had to fight the urge to inch away from him and curl up tighter on the floor.

“Plenty of things,” Zevran answered smoothly, looking up at their captor. “Out of curiosity, how many are in your group?”

“Si-” The man began, but he stopped himself with a frown. “Why should I tell you?”

“I doubt the others would let you have us all to yourself, would they?” The blond reasoned calmly. So, there were only the six that they had to worry about. Six that had managed to beat them the first time, and now all they had was their wits and a dagger between them.

Zevran narrowed his eyes in thought.

“Well, if you are to do this, then you had best start rather than delay your own pleasure, no?” He continued, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Theron stared at him, eyes wide in shock. This couldn’t be happening, could it? It was just another bad dream. Zevran wasn’t really offering himself to be used by a group of bandits, not with such a resigned but easy confidence.

He’d done it before, then. No doubt under less favourable circumstances. No dagger, no weakened ties, no company. Theron felt his heart sink.

The bandit stepped closer, expression oddly thoughtful, and Zevran moved his legs again to keep the dagger hidden.

“And think of the bragging rights,” The blond continued persuasively. “You will be the first to break in the Crow whoreson.”

Theron continued to stare at the other elf in disbelief as his thoughts raced. He couldn’t allow Zevran to be used like that, to return however briefly to a time when this kind of situation was an unwelcome fact of life for him. Zevran was no longer a Crow whoreson to be used by others.

“Or, you could break in the Hero of Ferelden instead,” Theron spoke up, drawing his legs up in an attempt to sit up. The bandit and Zevran turned to look at him. The human raised one eyebrow in surprise while Zevran looked horrified. Theron lifted his head up defiantly, so the bandit could see his grey eyes. The only solid evidence that his claim was true, that he was the very same elven Grey Warden that had slain the Archdemon only four months ago and lived. “That’d earn you free drinks for a _month_ , at least.” Hopefully, it would also earn Zevran time to get himself free while the bandit was distracted.

“Theron, _no_.” Zevran hissed beside him, sounding agonised, but the ranger ignored his shocked expression in favour of staring up at their captor.

The bandit studied him, running one weathered hand over his scruffy beard. Behind his back, Theron tested the rope again. It was rough, and starting to rub his wrists raw. Abruptly, the human turned and walked back out through the open door. Zevran barely waited until he’d disappeared from view to start talking.

“Have you gone completely mad? You have no idea what he will do to you!” He whispered harshly even as he began testing the bonds in earnest. Theron could hear his half-split rope creaking.

“Neither do you. But you have a better chance of getting free than I do right now. He’ll be paying more attention to me than to you this way.” Theron snapped, keeping his voice low.

“And what about the others?” Zevran nearly laughed in disbelief. “Will you let all six of them use you as well, in whatever way they wish?”

“You would've.”

The blond swore in a colourful mix of Antivan and common.

“I am _used_ to being used. This would have been nothing to me!” He snapped, his anger clear as day. “What has possessed you to do this?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the bandit returning with two other men who smelled just as unwashed as their leader.

“Make sure the foreign one doesn’t get any ideas. Bloody him some more if you want.” The first bandit said, stopping a short distance away from the two elves while the other two moved closer to Zevran. The blond curled in on himself as if he was afraid, but Theron knew it was just to keep the dagger underneath him fully concealed and hide the damage done to his bonds. The two newcomers were armed; one with a heavy looking mace and the other a battered sword that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a year.

Theron swallowed, uneasy nerves blooming in his stomach as the reality of the situation prodded at him at last.

“The Dalish are proud little snobs, aren’t they?” The first bandit mused. “They think they’re better than everything else on Thedas. Haughty little shits.”

The ranger kept his mouth shut, looking up at the leader instead. Automatically, he tested the ropes around his wrists and fought back the uneasy spike of panic at how tight they were, and how it felt like his arms and shoulders were on fire from being in a forced position for so long.

“I would have thought there was more fight in you. The last time we crossed paths with a Dalish she fought like a wildcat.” The bandit chuckled darkly. “Didn’t help her in the end.”

Theron took a steadying breath. They would get free, and they would fight their way tooth and nail to stay that way, he reminded himself. This was just to give Zevran time and keep his activities hidden.

The bandit beckoned him, and Theron realised he would have to shuffle the short distance over. At least it wouldn’t happen directly in front of Zevran. Swallowing his pride, and more importantly, his fear, the Dalish elf obeyed, only stopping when he was knelt in front of the bandit, at eye level with the front of his trousers, with his groin. He tried not to shudder too noticeably.

He could feel Zevran’s gaze boring holes into his back, and wished that he would stop. That he would look away until it was over or he was free, whichever happened first. He didn’t want to consider what Zevran’s expression was, what he would see in the blond’s eyes if he looked back, or what might be running through his mind right now.

This close up, Theron could smell the bandit, overpoweringly so. Sweat and mud, the faint sour tang of old alcohol and poor hygiene. His stomach flipped from nerves to repulsed nausea and then wavered uncertainly between the two. _Shemlen_ bastards.

“You dare bite me, savage, and there’ll be hell to pay.” The bandit growled above him, hands fumbling with the grubby lacing of his trousers. “Maybe on you, or maybe on your friend over there.”

Theron felt another chill run through him, and he resisted the urge to back away again. He stared as the bandit pushed his trousers open to reveal his smalls, and what the thin layer of cloth hid. Staring was all he could do.

This wasn’t happening the way it was happening. He wasn’t tied up in some barn with a bloodied face, being forced into this. He was with Zevran, entirely willing and ready to try again after the disappointing first attempts. Or it was all a figment of his imagination from the blow to his head. He’d wake up and Zevran would be gently chiding him for passing out at such an inopportune moment, covered in blood that wasn’t his own.

It was either that, or feel his will shatter into pieces.

Theron took another breath, looking down at the ground as he heard the further rustle of cloth. It sounded so loud in the quiet of the barn. He eventually steeled his nerve and looked back up. The smell of sweat and musk was stronger now, but he looked at the half hard cock in front of his face with detached neutrality.

He studied it the way he would a set of animal tracks or even scat. Weak, vulnerable pink flesh - _shemlen_ were so _pale_ \- with a coarse wilderness of greying hair that looked nearly identical to the _shemlen_ ’s beard. The head was flushed a light red, and as he watched it twitched slightly under his gaze, drawing a little further out from the foreskin. Theron gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t be tempted to wrinkle his nose in disgust as he stared. The disgust and hatred were all he had left, all he could rely on to get through this torture.

“Like what you see, savage?” The bandit asked. Theron kept his mouth closed, knowing what the most likely response would be if he offered an uncomplimentary comparison to Zevran. The sooner he start, the sooner it would be over - their suffering and the bandits’ lives both.

Slowly, Theron unclenched his jaw and tilted his head up, lifting his chin. He kept his gaze fixed, not wanting to look up at that cruel face for even a second. Disgust still boiled low in his stomach as he looked at the faintly pink _thing_ that would soon be in his _mouth_. It looked stiffer than before, slightly longer now.

How tempting it would be to bite down and harm such a delicate area. And the bandits thought they were the ones will all the power. The ranger kept his expression neutral, stopping himself from smirking in dry amusement. No, he had been warned. Either he or Zevran, or both of them, would come to harm if he rebelled in such a way.

“Hurry up, or the boys won’t be patient enough to wait their turn once I’m done with you.” The human urged, and the knowledge sent a skitter of fear through the ranger. He couldn’t delay any longer, but perhaps he could prolong what he could? Even thinking about it made him want to show his disgust in some way - a curl of the lip, a glare. But now was not the time. He had to remain in control of himself, and the situation. To _not_ give in to panic as was so tempting. He was relying on Zevran to get himself free during this distraction. He knew that if the situation had been reversed that things wouldn’t look so hopeful.

Theron could still feel Zevran’s eyes on the back of his head, and once again wished that he would look away. That was all he could do now as he leant forwards towards the acrid, heated smell of musk and stale sweat. Absently, he tested his bonds again until they bit into his wrists and chafed at his raw skin again. He knew the rope wouldn’t give, and truthfully it was more so he could try to relieve the ache in his shoulders and upper arms for a few brief seconds.

Again he stared at the half hard member. He had no idea what to _do_. The belated realisation made his stomach tight and his breath catch for a second, but he forced his panic down again. The only solid reference he had was from his own experiences of being on the receiving end, of what Zevran did. It had been a while since he’d last tried and failed to reciprocate the treatment. What did Zevran do? He never made it seem complicated, but then again Zevran was experienced. Everything he did, from killing to lovemaking, was pulled off with an effortless grace as if he’d done it a thousand times before because the chances were that he had.

Theron fought the urge to pull away as his lips met heated flesh, and he couldn’t stop the shudder that ran down his spine. As much as he would have liked to pretend this was Zevran, it was all too obvious that it wasn’t. It could _never_ be.

This was purely about physical sensations and stimulation, aiming for climax and nothing more. There was no intimacy to it, no love. This would be his first true experience with taking another into his mouth and to completion that way, one he knew would permanently tarnish the act and haunt him if he let it. He would never be able to forget this. He was kneeling in a dusty barn, tied up and forced to suck _shem_ cock while his lover could only watch.

The ranger closed his eyes tightly, letting out a shaking breath as the panic flooded his system again and his thoughts scattered in it’s wake. He was afraid, and he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if Zevran didn’t free himself soon, what would happen to them both if Zevran wasn’t able to free himself at all, or they discovered the dagger. _What if what if what if_. Theron doubted that the bandits would simply let them go. It was never that simple.

With what felt like all of his mental strength, Theron pulled himself back from the brink of mindless panic, his head nearly brushing the bandit’s thigh. He had to do this, and not break down. Not yet.

“Fuck’s sake.” The man snarled above him, clearly frustrated, but the ranger ignored him for a little longer, taking deep breaths until he felt like he could open his eyes and remind himself of the reality of the situation. They would survive this. He could survive this. Better if he didn’t think about it at all.

Resolve now steeled, Theron pulled his head back, tongue working behind his closed lips to bring up saliva rather than bile. Don’t think about it. Don’t bite. He took a breath, inhaling sweat and musky arousal, before he leant forwards and parted his lips, taking the bandit into his mouth at last. He tasted as bad as he smelt, acrid and bitter. Didn’t highwaymen ever hear of soap and water?

The bandit made a noise at the contact, and Theron didn’t know if it was of surprise or pleasure. He didn’t care. He could feel the man growing harder inside his mouth, hot and slick against his tongue. There was another noise behind him that sounded like it came from Zevran. So far, the blond had been silent. It had been easy to forget he was sitting there, that he wasn’t trapped watching this nightmare unfold.

The Dalish elf held back another shudder, beginning to work his tongue mechanically as he forced his mind to go blank, retreating to some remote corner as if he was a passenger in his own body. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about this humiliating violation, how such an intimate act was now tainted by a human. A common bandit that would die as easily as all the others had before him. Don’t think about it. Perhaps the act wouldn’t be tainted forever? Maybe one day he would move past this, resign it as a horrid memory and nothing more than another ghost of the past that could no longer harm him. Zevran would understand.

Instead, he focused on the pain and discomfort of his own body. His shoulders ached, muscles burning as if they were on fire, and his fingers were starting to go numb. His knees hurt as well, from having his weight on them for so long. The cut to his eyebrow still throbbed dully, but it had stopped bleeding long ago. Given their lack of healing magic, it would most likely scar. He would have a scar there one day, splitting his left eyebrow clean in half. At least, that was what it felt like.

Theron closed his eyes, revolted by the taste and feel of the human in his mouth growing harder still. The heat and the oddly silky quality to his skin, the throb of a vein under thin skin. Again he stopped the animalistic urge to bite, or perhaps to retch. There was no mistaking or pretending this man could be Zevran. Trying to trick himself into thinking it was would only damage his views on the act further. No, this wasn’t Zevran. This would _never_ be Zevran. But it wasn’t a crude bandit either. It was a faceless stranger of a fantasy, anyone else at any other time and place.

Eventually, Theron pulled back for air, doing his best to tug at his bindings despite how fruitless it was. The knots were still tight. His shoulders burned. The smell of the bandit washed over him again, powerful and repugnant to match the taste. He barely opened his eyes as he leant back in and took the man back into his mouth.

It was slightly easier this time; the flesh in his mouth didn’t twitch or thicken again as he clumsily tried to set a pattern that would bring the ordeal to an end. Behind him, over the sounds of heavy breathing and the disgusting internal noise of slick flesh sliding, he could hear Zevran shifting in the dust and swearing quietly in Antivan. Theron found himself thanking the Creators that they both still drew breath, that he wasn’t enduring this humiliation alone. There was a spark of hope.

Theron did his best to return his mind to it’s earlier blank state, focusing on the fire of physical pain rather than the panicked fear and humiliation curled low in his gut. It worked, until he felt an unfamiliar hand grip the back of his head tight like a trap.

His eyes shot open wide as panic surged through him, and he pulled away enough for the human’s cock to slip out of his mouth. He shuddered at the line of saliva that connected them and grimaced when it broke and fell against his chin. His body tensed at the sound of rasping steel behind him as a sword was pulled from its sheath, and the sudden tension in the air.

“What’s wrong, knife-ear?” The bandit above him asked, and Theron froze, keeping his mouth shut. “Not like seeing your friend used like a dockside whore?” The ranger blinked slowly, and dared to tilt his head back just enough to finally look up at the man. Thankfully, the human wasn’t looking at him, so Theron could only assume he was looking at Zevran behind him.

“I will kill you last.” Zevran answered, his voice dark in a way that sent another chill down his lover’s spine.

The bandit laughed at that, and his hand tightened against Theron’s braids, forcing his head a little closer to the slick, ruddy member.

“And I’ll fuck you first. Deal?”

Theron looked down at the dusty ground, stomach twisting itself into knots like a snake pinned by the tail. He squeezed his eyes shut. They would get out of this alive. They had to. The _shemlen_ laughed at his own brilliant wit, and it was joined by another laugh from over Theron’s shoulder. One of the guards.

“Keep the sword on the so-called Crow.” The bandit added, tugging sharply enough at Theron’s braids that the elf gritted his teeth to stop a gasp of pain. “And you, hurry up.” Theron could feel the gaze prickling his scalp, but he didn’t lift his head up or open his eyes. “You’re worse than a virgin. Maybe I should have used the Crow instead.”

The ranger swallowed, bile rising briefly at the taste of the bandit, but he lifted his head up enough to see the waiting cock and how it twitched gently with every subtle movement and heartbeat of it’s owner. He didn’t look further up, even when he felt the hand start to apply pressure to the back of his head, and almost gently pull his head forwards. A parody of encouragement.

Theron leaned forwards, taking the warm flesh into his mouth again as he closed his eyes. The taste was still disgusting, the smell cloying and acrid. With any luck it would be over soon, one way or another. This time, the ranger allowed the leaking head to rub against his tongue, suppressing the urge to gag. Falling back on memories of what Zevran always did with him, Theron pressed the tip of his tongue to the slit and flicked sharply upwards. The _shemlen_ seemed to like it, if his grunt was anything to go by.

The clinging taste of precome increased, and the hand in his hair threatened to pull him even closer, allow more of the cock to invade his mouth. Theron took a careful breath in through his nose, leaning his head back slightly to counteract the pressure. The fear in his stomach was beginning to sway to anger. This would be over soon. The bandits would die screaming.

Suddenly there was pressure at the back of his head, and then his mouth was being forced further open as heated flesh filled it. Alarmed, Theron tried to instinctively pull back again and get away, but the hand in his braids stopped him with a painful tug. He gasped in pain then, and then found himself coughing, nearly choking. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Immediately, there was the sound of struggling behind him, venomous curses in Antivan and the common tongue that were cut off with the thudding sound of some kind of impact, and a winded groan.

Theron closed his eyes, focusing on pulling away long enough to breathe, but the hand at his braids had been joined by a second, keeping him in place as the bandit began to shallowly thrust his hips. _Using_ him. Panicked thoughts about just how big the _shem_ ’s cock and whether he really would choke on it were quickly burned up by an intense wave of sheer hatred.

The bandit was growing increasingly more vocal above him, the grip on his hair tightening painfully. Theron simply focused on breathing and not retching as the cock began to thrust deeper, further than he would have preferred. It verged on painful.

It was the sharp gasp that alerted him first, and he barely had time to react before the first hot spurt of the bandit’s seed filled his mouth. Startled, he swallowed the sour fluid reflexively, but more filled his mouth. He needed to breathe. The grip on his head had loosened, the bandit enjoying his climax, so with a sharp tug Theron was free to turn his head wildly to one side and spit, just as a final dribble of come landed on his cheek.

The room was silent, Theron frozen rigid in fury as he gasped for breath.

“Not bad, for a savage.” The bandit managed, and Theron could hear the smug grin in his voice without needed to look up to see it. He gritted his teeth so hard that for a second he thought they would crumble, and then he finally turned his head to look over his shoulder. One of the guards had clearly enjoyed the show and made no secret of how he was rubbing the front of his trousers even as he held the filthy sword in his other hand. Zevran was slumped between the two guards, staring at him. Theron forced himself to meet the Antivan’s gaze, trembling. The blond nodded imperceptibly and his shoulders shifted as if he was reaching for something behind him.

Theron turned back to the bandit leader, and stared at the softening cock in front of him, slick with saliva and come. He could still taste it in his mouth, and he could have sworn he could still _feel_ it. Abruptly, he reached a decision and leant forwards, taking the member quickly into his mouth, as far as he could stand it and then further.

Before the human could react, Theron bit down as hard as he could.

The bandit screamed in agony and pushed him away forcefully, both of them falling to the floor. Theron spat out warm blood this time, blood that wasn’t his own, as chaos erupted just behind him. He turned his head in time to see the guard that hadn’t been touching himself step forwards with his mace in hand.

Theron’s eyes widened, but then the man was pulled down by a tanned arm around his throat, the mace falling from his hand as a dagger was shoved through his ribs and twisted for good measure.

Zevran let the man drop to the floor to either struggle back to his feet or bleed out into the dirt, and whirled gracefully on one heel, dagger in his hand as he met the blade of the other guard who had managed to recollect himself. His golden eyes burned with a terrifying vengeance.

Theron struggled with his bonds futilely as there was a brief but intense skirmish. It ended when the Antivan ducked under a badly timed swipe and stabbed his opponent in the thigh. Suddenly crippled and bleeding heavily, the human let out a cry of pain that was cut short by the bloodied dagger slicing across his throat and leaving a vivid red line in it’s wake. A body collapsed to the floor in a spray of blood.

Theron relaxed slightly, eyes on the door for any sign of backup arriving as Zevran made certain the first guard was dead.

“You fucking savage!” The bandit leader howled, oblivious to anything outside his world of extremely intimate pain as he lay curled in on himself. _Good_.

“Theron-” Zevran began as he helped the Dalish elf into a kneeling position, cutting one tie of the rope around his wrists and quickly unwinding it.

“Don’t.” Theron replied firmly, examining the red marks on Zevran’s wrists as he carefully rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. They burned in agony, but he blinked away tears of pain as he stretched the cramped muscles. Zevran handed him the length of rope before he started cutting through the rope that bound his ankles, and Theron smiled grimly. He had a weapon at last.

“Theron.” Zevran tried again when the ropes were gone, and then Theron was pulled into a crushing hug. He sagged in Zevran’s tight arms, burying his head in the blond’s shoulder.

“Shall we kill everything that breathes?” He asked, feeling the dampness of blood around his mouth and on his chin, the spend on his cheek and tears in his eyes. He felt like he was going to vomit, but that could wait until they were the last two standing.

“It will be my pleasure, _amor_.” The blond nodded, and when they pulled away Zevran’s eyes were dark with the promise of further bloodshed, his hands and armour stained with the blood he had already spilt as he picked up the sword and tested it’s balance.

“Leave him til last.” Theron muttered as Zevran helped him stagger up to his feet, unable to look back at the human that had just violated him. Absently, he wiped at his chin and mouth with his free hand, and looked down at the blood smeared on his fingers. It glittered wetly in the afternoon light. He gripped the rope tight as they left the room on silent feet, looking for either more enemies or their confiscated possessions.

His stomach was tight and rolled uneasily as they checked alcoves and rooms made from modified animal stalls. Theron found it unusually difficult to breathe, his breath coming in short pants as if his chest was too small for his lungs. His pulse hammered in his throat. He swallowed thickly, tasted something foul and cloying, and his eyes stung with the threat of more tears. The Dalish elf bowed his head, a pathetic noise catching in the back of his throat that he refused to let past his lips. He had to remain strong for a little longer.

“We shall not take long, _amor_.” Zevran murmured beside him as if he knew how close Theron was to breaking down.

They found one lone guard stationed on the other side of an open door that led outside, obviously keeping watch on the road. Theron used his new, makeshift garrote to choke the woman into unconsciousness as Zevran scouted around for the remaining two from the group that had ambushed them on the road. The open road beckoned, but they couldn’t leave until they had recovered their possessions.

The final two were together and put up more of a fight than the guards had, but eventually Theron and Zevran were the last men standing. As he’d predicted, the first thing Theron did was double over in front of a wall and empty his stomach.

Zevran was quieter than normal as they reclaimed their weapons first. Usually by now the blond would have made some kind of joke or comment to break the silence. This time, there was no sound aside from the rattle of Theron’s quiver and the creaking of leather straps being readjusted. To Theron, the feeling of his bow’s unyielding, worn grip held tightly in his hand was sweet completion. The blood on his chin was nearly dry, and some of it had dripped down onto the front of his armour.

“Wait here.” Zevran spoke at last, drawing one of his daggers from its sheath. A curved purple blade made from dragonbone. One Theron had given him (he’d then immediately declared it was “Very elegant. Sexy, even.” and called it The Rose’s Thorn). The edges glinted as Zevran left the room, but Theron waited patiently. When Zevran returned several minutes later he was silently cleaning blood from the blade with a grubby length of torn cloth, expression giving nothing away.

The quiet stretched on as they found their packs in another room, the contents strewn about so haphazardly they’d had clearly been in the process of being claimed by the group. As the two elves exited the barn, Theron saw an open-topped barrel resting by the doorway.

“Hold on.” He said, walking over as Zevran stopped and turned back to look at him.

“Is now really the time for looting?” The blond asked, frowning slightly as he watched the Dalish elf peer into the barrel curiously. Theron shook his head then took a deep breath before he dunked his head into the rainwater that had collected in the barrel and filled it to the top. The wound on his head stung, but he ignored it as he scrubbed at his cheek and all the blood, washing his face and mouth blessedly clean even if it couldn’t clear the memories from his mind. The wound would scar, and the scar would be a permanent reminder of this day, years from now, the same as the memories if he chose to let them fester.

He pulled his head back up with a gasp for air, water running down his face and braids, and looked back at Zevran. The Antivan was still watching him, one hand distractedly raised as if he was considering closing the distance between them and putting it on Theron’s shoulder.

“Do you feel any better?” The blond asked hesitantly instead, and Theron shook his head again.

“Hold on.” The Dalish elf added, turning back to the barrel and sticking his head in it a second time. This time, he screamed a lungful of bubbles into the water until his lungs burned and he was forced to raise his dripping head or inhale water and drown on dry land.

“ _Now_ I am.” Theron replied breathlessly as he stepped away from the barrel, water dripping to the ground.

“Then let us leave this place.” Zevran advised, ignoring how Theron’s shoulders were now wet as he draped one arm over them, steering him firmly towards the road and away from the barn. The more distance they put between themselves and the place before nightfall, the better.

They were quiet as they walked, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. It wasn’t until Theron’s braids were nearly dry that Zevran spoke again.

“I understand completely, you know,” He began gently, looking at the Dalish elf walking beside him. Theron didn’t look up from the path at his feet, but turned his head slightly towards the blond to show he was listening. “What... Happened earlier. How you are feeling now,” Zevran continued, his voice soft. “And I want you to know that I will listen when you are ready and willing to talk about it.”

The other elf nodded slowly, but kept his mouth closed.

_Well, if you are to do this, then you had best start rather than delay your own pleasure, no?_

_I am_ used _to being used._

_The Crow whoreson._

_This would have been nothing to me._

“Thank you.” Zevran finished, even though the two words felt to the both of them like they were completely inadequate at expressing how deep his gratitude was.

Theron blinked, thoughts and emotions still swirling in his mind as chaotically as a river about to burst it’s banks. He had been violated, a slave to someone else’s whim. Slave to a _shemlen_ , at that. He couldn’t taste the bandit anymore, not after he’d used half his waterskin to wash his mouth out, but he could almost feel the tacky glide of hot skin over his tongue towards his throat.

The ranger shivered. The bandits were dead now. It was just himself and Zevran walking down the road as they had done that morning, dirt crunching underfoot and leather creaking with every step that took them away from the abandoned barn.

The hatred and fury that had fueled him earlier had left, made him feel drained, cold and empty. The weight of his bow and quiver at his back made him keep going, and resist the morbid temptation to look over his shoulder as they slowly travelled through farmland that had been deserted during the Blight and not returned to. Fields of yellow-gold wheat that should have been harvested by now still grew strong, sighing in the breeze.

“Zevran.” Theron finally spoke up as the sun kissed the farmland far to the west, and he hated how weak and broken his voice sounded, but he was anything but strong and whole right now. Fragile, like glass or a spider’s web. His hands were shaking where they hung by his sides. His eyes stung fiercely with the threat of tears. He only realised that he’d stopped walking when the blond turned to look at him, and then walked back to stand in front of him.

Theron found himself in the tight, reassuringly strong circle of Zevran’s arms again, head pressed against the blond’s shoulder as he finally allowed himself to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for putting you through that, dorks.  
> Concrit appreciated.


End file.
